"Curran's hair fell to his shoulders. Long, blond, luxuriously wavy, it framed his face like a mane. He sat in a room in the Pack Keep, reading a battered paperback under a cone of electric light from a small lamp. He didn't raise his head as Jim ushered me into the room and closed the door. Just me and the Beast Lord. And the night, spilling into the room through the wide-open window. Jim hadn't said a word to me on the way over here. I was on thin ice. "What's the deal with the hair?" Curran tore his gaze from the book and grimaced. "Grows every flare. Can't help it." We stared at each other. "Waiting for the Fabio joke," he said."